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He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I think a moment of magic is more than enough for me these days.”
Her eyes softened a little further, but they stopped short of pity before she turned back to the horizon. Alec let out a breath. If being in Lottie’s presence didn’t kill him, the memories she roused just might. Thankfully, Lorenzo turned around and mentioned that they would pass a brook with a shady spot perfect for a picnic lunch. “For signore and the signora,” he added in heavily accented English. His tender young gaze then fell on Lottie, looking for her approval, but she didn’t notice his attentions.
Alec felt a pang of sympathy for the lad. “Yes, that’s fine.” Then he addressed Lottie: “We’ll stop for lunch soon.”
“Oh, good,” she said, still looking at the horizon. “I was about to start rifling through Marta’s basket.”
“We’ll have time to rest here. Then it’s another few hours to Pistoia.”
Lottie nodded but her spine tensed ever so slightly. They would spend the night there before catching the early train to Bologna. Alec’s shoulder was already twinging at the thought of sleeping on the floor again. No doubt they would both be more comfortable in separate rooms, but he wouldn’t risk her safety. No, it would have to be one room.
One room for Mr. and Mrs. Gresham.
And there it was. That damned spark again.
After a little while, the cart trundled past a bend in the road and revealed a healthy swell of rushing water. A cluster of cypress trees on the bank would provide plenty of shade for their picnic. Lorenzo brought the cart as close to the little glen as he could manage. They were perched on a gently sloping hill that led down to the glen and the brook beyond. Alec was up and out as soon as the wheels stopped. He stretched his long arms over his head and took in the scenery. As his jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, Lottie pictured the shape of the corded muscles beneath, and how they would bunch and tighten with each movement. Like any respectable English tourist, she had spent many an afternoon filling a pad with pencil sketches of statues. He was as well built as any she had seen here, but Alec wasn’t made of marble. His skin would be warm, and smooth. It would give ever so slightly when touched. Maybe even tremble.
Lottie sniffed. No. NotAlec.
He probably had more self-control than the statue of David. And a heart to match.
The closest thing to experiencing true magic is Venice at sunset.
Alec’s stern expression hadn’t faltered while he quite obviously quoted his own father. But if he felt even a touch of nostalgia, he did not share it. But then, why would she think him capable of any sentimentality? His actions, or lack thereof, said more than enough.
Alec finished his stretch then came around to the other side of the cart and held out his arms. Lottie hesitated, but then he raised his eyebrows. “Can’t a man keep his wife from breaking her neck?” he asked innocently.
Lottie gave him a pointed look but relented. “I suppose.”
Alec’s hands encircled her waist as he helped her down. His touch was brief and entirely courteous, but Lottie’s knees suddenly buckled. Alec immediately pulled her to him while his warm, woodsy scent invaded her senses. Her palms spread over his chest and her fingers tensed against the urge to stroke the musculature that lay beneath his linen shirt.
“It’s—it’s from sitting so long,” Lottie hastened to explain. As she forced her hands to push away from him, her very cells seemed to cry out.
Alec released her. “Of course,” he said smoothly, his expression as unfathomable as ever. “You go on ahead.” He handed her the basket. “Find us a place to sit. I’ve a blanket packed away here somewhere.”
Lottie gave a dazed nod as she took the basket and walked toward the river. The swift, steady sound of rushing water helped to settle her overwrought nerves. She found a spot that was an ideal combination of both view and shade, then watched the patterns of sunlight glinting off the surface of the water until she was lulled into a kind of trance. She didn’t even hear Alec’s approach.
“This is perfect,” he said. She whirled around as he shook out a thick brown blanket and spread it over the earth. “Here. Have a seat.”
Lottie sat down on the blanket as far away from him as possible. A corner of Alec’s mouth lifted, but he said nothing as he sprawled across the middle of the blanket and propped himself up on one bent elbow. “And what did the lovely Marta send us off with?” He looked perfectly at ease now, as if they did this regularly. And they had. Once upon a time.
A ghost of a smile hovered on Lottie’s lips. They had picnicked often at Haverford, her uncle’s estate in Surrey. Her governess, Miss Newson, had initially barred Alec from joining them despite Lottie’s many fervent pleas. She didn’t like foreigners and, well, the boy was just so veryItalian. But soon enough, even the stringent Miss Newson couldn’t resist Alec’s formidable charm, and he was granted permission to accompany them. Those lazy summer afternoons were some of the happiest of her life. But it was useless to remember them now. They were both much changed since then.
Lottie shook the burdensome memories from her mind as she removed the cloth from the basket and began to take out portions of smoked meat, a generous wedge of cheese, a loaf of crusty bread, a bunch of grapes, and, of course, a few more custard tarts. She placed each item between them while Alec silently observed. Lottie couldn’t tell for certain if he was looking at the food or at her, and she didn’t wish to find out. She kept her focus firmly on the task before her. But as the seconds ticked by, something inside wound tighter and tighter until it felt as though her very skin would burst.
She swallowed and looked into the now-empty basket. “A fine feast, but it appears Marta didn’t pack any utensils.”
“That’s no trouble.” His voice, as thick as honey, nearly startled her again. “I have a pocketknife. Will that do?”
Lottie fastidiously wiped her hands on the cloth to give her something else to do besides look at him. “It will have to.” She finally dared to glance up. Alec, still lounging on the blanket like some kind of grand Ottoman, handed her an ivory-handled switchblade. Lottie reached out and gripped the handle, but Alec held fast until she was forced to meet his eyes. Then he gave her a slow, lazy smile. “Careful now. I’m terribly attached to this one.”
Lottie responded with a look of mild exasperation, and Alec released the knife with a soft laugh. The handle was still warm from being nestled against his body, as if it was an extension of his person. Lottie pressed her lips together as a wave of heat rolled through her.
Honestly.
She sat up a little straighter and began to cut the cheese and meat with Alec’s knife. All the while she could practically feel his watchful gaze following her every movement. This would not do. She furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to tell him to keep his eyes to himself when Alec interrupted. “I nearly forgot!” He scrambled to his feet and took off for the cart. He returned nearly as quickly as he had left, but with a bottle of corked wine in one hand. “Marta gave us this. A celebratory bottle.”
Lottie’s frown deepened. “It will have to wait. We’ve no glasses.”
